tle rustic parade.

After that the old man again wore his medal concealed. The Chinese War
of 1857 was too contemptible to celebrate by displaying his badge of
Waterloo.

Then came the dreadful tale of the Sepoy mutiny--Meerut, Delhi,
Cawnpore! After the tale of Nana Sahib's massacre of women and
children was read to old John he never smiled, I think. Week after
week, month after month, as hideous tidings poured steadily in, his
face became more haggard, gray, and dreadful. The feeling that he was
too old for use seemed to shame him. He no longer carried his head
high, as of yore. That his son was not marching behind Havelock with
the avenging army seemed to cut our veteran sorely. Sergeant Locke had
sailed with the old regiment to join Outram in Persia before the
Sepoys broke loose. It was at this time that old John was first heard
to say, "I'm 'feared something's gone wrong with my heart."

Months went by before we learned that the troops for Persia had been
stopped on their way and thrown into India against the mutineers. At
that news old John marched into the village with a prouder air than he
had worn for many a day. His medal was again on his breast.

It was but the next month, I think, that the village lawyer stood
reading aloud the account of the capture of a great Sepoy fort. The
veteran entered the post-office, and all made way for him. The reading
went on:--

"The blowing open of the Northern Gate was the grandest personal
exploit of the attack. It was performed by native sappers, covered by
the fire of two regiments, and headed by Lieutenants Holder and Dacre,
Sergeants Green, Carmody, Macpherson, and Locke."

The lawyer paused. Every eye turned to the face of the old Waterloo
soldier. He straightened up to keener attention, threw out his chest,
and tapped the glorious medal in salute of the names of the brave.

"God be praised, my son was there!" he said. "Read on."

"Sergeant Carmody, while laying the powder, was killed, and the native
havildar wounded. The powder having been laid, the advance party
slipped down into the ditch to allow the firing party, under
Lieutenant Dacre, to do its duty. While trying to fire the charge he
was shot through one arm and leg. He sank, but handed the match to
Sergeant Macpherson, who was at once shot dead. Sergeant Locke,
already wounded severely in the shoulder, then seized the match, and
succeeded in firing the train. He fell at that moment, literally
riddled w